Santa’s Pucking Hat Trick (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

26. Rachel

26

RACHEL

T he room was warm with the scent of roasted herbs, caramelized onions, and rich sauces wafting from the silver trays the catering team had set up on a long wooden table. My mom was perched elegantly beside me, wearing a perfectly tailored burgundy dress, her hair styled in soft waves like some kind of timeless holiday goddess. Bria sat on her other side, dressed casually as ever, though she was eyeing the food with clear enthusiasm.

I was there too, though it was practically under duress. There I was, sitting at the same elegant table, trying to focus on my first real task in gala-planning land while my mind wandered. Not for the first time since I’d been home, I was off in la-la land—which could only be the name for the little world that existed when Sawyer, Roman, Wes, and I were all together in bed.

“Rachel, honey, what do you think?” my mom asked, sliding a bite of some artfully arranged seafood thing in my direction. “The lobster puffs? Too decadent? Or just right?”

I stared at the small puff on the plate, the buttery crust gleaming in the light, and felt my stomach churn. Somehow, food had less appeal now that I was so satiated with sex. That was supposed to be all it was, of course, this arrangement I had started with the three hockey players I’d once found so obnoxious, but I knew it wasn’t the case anymore even before I made them agree not to fuck anyone but me.

All I could think about was the easy harmony of the past few weeks. Sneaking over to the guys’ places after practice, sneaking them into my guest house…it was all thrilling. But even without the clandestine canoodling, I was spending late nights at the rink, watching their games with renewed interest, and—well, getting closer than I ever expected.

I bit back a smile, thinking about Halloween a few weeks ago. I’d worn a sexy little costume just to tease them, a cheeky witch number with a sinfully short skirt that had made Roman nearly drop his beer and left Sawyer speechless for a good minute. That night, after more sexy, sweaty passion than I thought my body could handle and a truly impressive amount of orgasms, we’d watched scary movies. All four of us tangled on the couch in a mess of limbs, the three of them trying to get me to scream at the jump scares, Roman faking like he was afraid when it became clear I was made of tougher stuff…it was fun. And more than that, it all felt…normal. Comfortable.

My life had developed these routines with them, unconventional as it was. Even when they were traveling for away games, I’d gotten used to sneaky phone calls, constant group-texting, the quiet anticipation of their return. A few months ago, I never would have imagined myself in this kind of relationship, let alone with three incredible guys, but now it was the only thing that made sense.

Even the specter of Sharon wasn’t hanging over us anymore. I wasn’t sure she’d completely given up her crusade to win back Wes, but I was pretty damn sure she knew she wouldn’t win. And thankfully, she hadn’t shown her face since that night at the Rowdy Reindeer. I wasn’t going to waste time worrying about her.

“Rachel?”

My mom’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts, and I realized I’d been staring at the lobster puff for far too long. “Oh, um…” I took a tentative bite, immediately regretting it. The rich taste hit my tongue, and my stomach twisted in protest. “Ugh, hard no,” I said quickly, setting the fork down and reaching for my water.

Mom frowned slightly, clearly disappointed by my lackluster reaction. “Well, I thought it was lovely.”

“So, how’s it going with the Santas?” Bria asked, an eyebrow raised as she reached for a bite of some artfully arranged canapé. “You’re still working with Roman, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” I sipped my water, willing my stomach to settle. “Roman’s been great. He’s really committed to fixing his image.”

Bria gave me a knowing look, but before I could react, my mom chimed in. “You know, Rachel, it’s good that you’re working hard, but you’re also allowed to…have some fun now and then,” she said, her voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. “It doesn’t matter what your brother thinks or what anyone else might say. What matters is that you’re happy. You and your little hockey fellow.”

I felt a small blush creep up my neck. Did she think I was dating Roman? Did she hope I was dating Roman?

I blinked, my fork hovering over a bite of some kind of delicate pastry. “Mom, I’m just helping Roman out with PR.”

My mom didn’t look convinced. “You don’t have to lie to me, sweetie—and I’ll note that I didn’t say any names. You did.”

“I’m not…there’s not—I just guessed. Because you like Roman. And Bria brought him up.”

“Well, I do like him. But if you say you’re not dating him, that’s fine! Those other hockey boys are all fine too. And you know Michael will love you no matter what. He might be protective, but he’ll come around to whoever you choose.”

What if I choose all three of his best friends? I thought, wanting to laugh and barf at the same time somehow.

The catering team brought out another tray, and I was hit with the strong smell of—what was that? Crab? The scent made my stomach lurch, and suddenly, I knew I couldn’t handle another bite.

“I don’t think I can eat anymore,” I muttered, pushing my plate away.

Bria raised an eyebrow. “You okay, hon? You don’t look too great.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, feeling the nausea bubbling up. “I think I’m just coming down with something.”

My mom and Bria exchanged concerned glances, but before they could ask more questions, I stood up. “Maybe we should head home early?”

Mom nodded, her brow furrowed in worry. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.”

Back at the house, I snuggled up on the couch, feeling wiped out and a little dizzy. In the background, I could hear my dad chatting excitedly as he and Michael set up the Christmas tree. Thanksgiving was only a few days away, but Mom had insisted we decorate early for the family coming into town. Normally, I’d be up there helping, but tonight, I just needed to rest.

Michael wandered over with a tangle of Christmas lights in his hand, giving me a concerned look. “You okay, Rach?”

I nodded, pulling a blanket over my lap. “Yeah, just tired.”

Michael looked like he wanted to say something else, but never one to be an instigator, he shrugged and went back to wrestling with the tangled Christmas lights. But this time, he stayed beside me, dragging the plastic bin full of lights over to his new spot on the couch. I knew it was because he was worried —those protective barely bigger brother instincts were always strong, and I couldn’t deny it made him endearing. I figured if he loved me so much that he wanted to catch whatever stomach bug I may be developing, it was his funeral. I let out a soft sigh, settling further into the couch.

Then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table, lighting up with a notification. My stomach did a small flip when I saw the name at the top of the screen: Roman, and beside it, Wes and Sawyer too. A message in our group chat. The group chat with the guys was unpredictable, and Roman had been extra playful lately. I bit my lip as I opened the message.

A line of three eggplant emojis stared back at me.

I felt my face heat up immediately. Of course. I could practically hear Roman’s laugh in my head, teasing and cocky, as I tried not to choke on my own breath. Of course, that was exactly the moment Michael looked my way, peering the tiniest bit over my shoulder. “Hey, who’s that? Was that Roman?”

I quickly tilted the phone screen away from him, praying he hadn’t seen the emojis. “Uh, yeah! It’s just, um, work-related,” I stammered, feeling a blush creep up my neck. “Checking in on his holiday plans so I can keep him on the straight and narrow. Nothing exciting.”

Michael made a face like he didn’t quite believe me, but thankfully, he didn’t ask any more questions, partly because Dad piped up just in time, looking away from the tree limb where he was hanging ornaments with far too much concentration. “Rach, you should stay off your phone anyway. You work too much! You’re supposed to be resting, spending time with us, not worrying about hockey or emails or whatever it is you’re doing over there.”

A dismissive hand gesture punctuated it, and he scrambled as he almost flung the ornament he’d been holding across the carpet. I shoved my phone into the cushion next to me, out of sight, hoping I wouldn’t get another notification anytime soon. Dad was right, anyway. I had been spending so much time at work—well, mostly with the guys, but they thought it was all work—that I hadn’t really been with my family much since I’d come back home. There was a time when I wouldn’t have missed a night like this, tangled in holiday decorations and laughter with the Henning clan (plus Bria, an honorary Henning).

I sighed and offered a small, apologetic smile. “You’re right, Dad. I’ve been busy. I guess I haven’t been around as much as I should’ve.”

Bria, sitting in the armchair across from me, gave me a knowing smile. “You’re here now, that’s what counts. And after Thanksgiving, we’re going Christmas shopping, missy. Just you and me. No work, no boys, just us girls.”

I laughed, chasing away the guilt. “That sounds like fun.”

Bria winked, and my mom smiled over at me too, her eyes twinkling. “I’ll allow shopping without your mother, but only because I’m sure you’ll be shopping for me.”

“Naturally,” I laughed.

“Duh,” Bria agreed. She added, “I’ll make sure Steve coughs up the good credit card so we can get you something really nice, Paula.”

Dad chuckled but didn’t protest, knowing Bria was independently well-off enough that that wasn’t necessary. I hadn’t gone shopping with her in ages, and it was one thing we’d bonded over the moment my brain had switched into teen-girl, mall-rat mode. Suddenly, I couldn’t wait for that, or the rest of the Henning family holiday traditions that always felt so much more distant when I was still hung up on college finals and painfully short school breaks. Even amidst the hockey player drama I’d fallen into, my family was a beautifully simple constant, and I couldn’t let myself forget how important they were. ‘Twas (almost) the season, after all.